


Burn

by Bohemian (Linguam)



Series: Post 3x10: Erchomai [6]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: #SaveShadowhunters, Angst, Depression, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e10 Erchomai, Worried Alec Lightwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 03:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16077173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguam/pseuds/Bohemian
Summary: Somewhere distant, he knows that he should probably stop.But it’s the first time since he lost his magic that he doesn’t feel cold.





	Burn

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% me projecting and was not supposed to happen in this 'verse (sorry, Magnus).
> 
> Heed the tags, my friends, and stay safe <3

The water burns.

Magnus watches, eyes dull and mind hazy, as it pools in his upturned palms, slipping through the cracks between his fingers and disappearing down the drain.

Every glistening pearl, another part of him lost.

It’s almost poetic.

The bathroom mirror has since long fogged over from the angry fumes. Bodies of water crystals trail down the glass like tears.

Magnus wishes he could cry, too. But there are no tears left.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing here, coating his hands in this liquid, translucent fire, but it’s enough that his skin has since long turned red and bloated. He wishes he could submerge himself in it fully, wants to feel the burn envelope his entire body, but drawing a bath seems like too much effort.

His fingers twitch under the scalding spray, and the sharp sting that follows bites into his skin like the teeth of a newborn Hellhound.

Somewhere distant, he knows that he should probably stop.

But it’s the first time since he lost his magic that he doesn’t feel cold.

He hears the echoes of footsteps before he registers the bathroom door opening. There’s a sharp intake of breath— _is it his?_ —followed by a bitten-off curse, and then calloused hands grip his wrists and pull his hands away from the water, away from feeling, away from relief. He immediately mourns the loss.

Someone is speaking, tone soft yet insistent, but Magnus is at the bottom of an ice-cold ocean and the words don’t make sense.

He stares at the fingers encircling his wrists, slender and almost white against the blistering red of his own skin.

He blinks languidly and lifts his head.

It weighs a ton.

It takes forever.

Alec is staring at him with wide hazels. Alarm and sorrow mar his tired features, and there are dark circles under his eyes, in stark contrast to his pale complexion.

The world isn’t yet completely without beauty, Magnus muses absently. That’s something, at least.

There’s a frown creasing Alec’s forehead as he gently inspects Magnus’s scorched hands. 

“Magnus,” Alec says softly, sadly. “Why… what were you doing?”

_I just wanted to feel something._

“I was cold.” The words don’t feel like his, don’t sound like his. But his mouth had moved, so he must have spoken them.

“Sorry,” he adds. An afterthought, because he hadn’t meant to worry Alec.

Alec sighs, heavy and tired—always so tired these days, his poor angel, and always because of him—and steps closer.

He places a kiss on Magnus’s forehead, but it’s so gentle Magnus barely feels it through the fog.

If he could cry, he would.

“It’s okay,” Alec mumbles. “Don’t apologize.”

He leans back, mouth twitching in what Magnus can only assume is supposed to be a smile.

“Let’s take care of your hands, huh? After all, you’re the one who’s always telling me not to let wounds fester.”

He is. It’s sound advice.

But now, Magnus is having a hard time remembering why, because letting it fester seems like a perfectly good idea; at least then, he might feel something other than this bottomless numbness, this all-consuming void in his chest where his magic used to be.

If he could just transfer some of the pain he’s feeling into actual, physical wounds, maybe he wouldn’t feel like he was dying inside.

Alec pales, and Magnus realizes he must have said that last bit out loud.

Alec closes his eyes briefly and exhales a shaky breath. His hands release their grip on Magnus’s wrists and instead come up to cup Magnus’s face. They are blessedly warm and Magnus closes his eyes and nuzzles into them shamelessly, chasing every last ounce of heat.

God, he is so cold.

“I’m going to fix this, Magnus,” Alec says quietly, fierce determination underlining the words, because Alec has never known _not_ to fight. “I _promise_ you I will.”

Magnus exhales softly.

“I know,” he says, because what else can he say? He knows that Alec will try, that he will do anything in his power and beyond to get Magnus his magic back; who knows, he might even succeed—if anyone could, Magnus has no doubt it would be Alec.

But until that day comes, he thinks as Alec starts gently rubbing healing salve into his hands, _if_ it comes, this is what his life is going to be like. Cold. Empty. Hollow.

Reaching for memories of feelings only for them to slip through his fingers.

Seeing himself in the mirror and knowing that it’s him, but feeling like he’s looking into the eyes of a stranger—after all, the eyes staring back at him aren’t _his,_ not really.

Clinging to the things he _knows_ are worth living for, although he can’t remember why anymore.

It all seems rather pointless.

But he will, Magnus thinks, watching Alec frown and tsk under his breath as he cares for Magnus’s abused hands with a gentleness that thaws some of the ice that is holding his body and mind hostage.

He will, Magnus thinks, letting Alec maneuver his heavy limbs into a soft, oversized hoodie and then push him down onto bed, piling him with seemingly every blanket he owns.

He will, Magnus thinks, burrowing into Alec’s open arms moments later and closing his eyes with a quiet sigh, willing sleep to come.

For a little longer, he will.

**Author's Note:**

> #SaveShadowhunters


End file.
